A Fixed Purpose
by Mrs. A. Hamilton
Summary: A tale of opposites...angels and demons, Federalists and Jeffersonians. And so the most dramatic moment in the early politics of the Union unfolds...rated for GRAPHIC IMAGES.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Okaaaaay, this baby will consist of short little chapters; then again, I haven't really decided. Anyway, I would appreciate any commentary, preferably detailed. I don't own the Bible, nor history. Thanks to previous reviewers! Enjoy!

* * *

'Would you have the hair spring set?' 

The sparkling violet-blue eyes stared intently at the long, slim pistols, with lacquered walnut handles—exquisite embellishments—and gold mountings along their brass barrels. Alexander Hamilton finally shook his head. 'Not this time.'

As the seconds, Nathaniel Pendleton and William Van Ness, drew lots once more, Hamilton lifted his gaze towards his challenger, who stood concealed in the shadows of the cedar trees. The former treasury secretary allowed a small sigh to escape his lips, recalling his friend's protests to his resolution.

_I intend to fire in the air_, he had insisted the night before.

_Alex, think of your family—think of your friends!_ Pendleton had pleaded, with tears veiling his eyes.

_My friend_, Hamilton had returned, his melodic voice soothing but firm, _it is the effect of a religious scruple and does not admit of reasoning. It is useless to say more on the subject as my purpose is definitely fixed._

A fixed purpose, indeed—voiced not simply as a resolution, but as a proclamation of a definite purpose for existence; determined not by his own desires or free will, but by something indeterminable; a fate not of his making, but ordained ere he had abounded upon life's vivid stage, every scruple directed by something inscrutable. And yet, Alexander Hamilton found inimitable solace in the thought that whatever was to transpire between himself and Aaron Burr was destiny—nothing more or less than pure, immutable, and divine providence.

Narrowed, ruby-red eyes glowered at the former treasury secretary, his nostrils flared, his black talons sunk deep into Burr's graying head. The demon's hulking, muscular form flexed with fury, barely repressed rage spit through his clenched fangs, as his sibilant voice rasped into the vice president's ear. Asmodeus could hardly stand the sight of the angelic princes.

Gabriel glided to a stop upon the secluded cliff facing the Manhattan shoreline. His celestial companions had already arrived at the scene, their faces grim, their brilliant auras tamed to a somber glow.

'Salutations have already been exchanged, I presume?' the prince of messengers queried.

Rafael nodded, watching the seconds load and cock the pistols. 'They're about to begin.'

'You think you've won, have you?' the demon lord suddenly called from the shaded region of the vegetated ledge. 'You think I don't know of that mortal's pledge?'

'Be careful, demon,' Rafael returned, his sea-gray eyes glimmering. 'Our restraining orders have been lifted. You no longer have power over this one.'

Asmodeus stepped out of the shadows, permitting a slow, wheezing cackle to escape his bared fangs. 'Is that so, princeling?' The massive spirit turned to his host, teasingly stroking the vice president's bony cheek with his large talon. 'Mark my words, he will not suffer torment alone,' the demon growled darkly, 'but his entire household shall bear the agony of his pain. His posterity will live to see his name smeared by the pages of history, his reputation slandered by those who once called him their friend. I tell you, hundreds of generations from now will not know him. His spouse will have no peace, and she will be alone in her despair until the end of her days.'

As Asmodeus spoke those words, black slithering shades crept over the ledge, snarling and hissing; their detestable forms quivered with demonic glee, as the horde of ferocious demons surrounded the duelists like monstrous vultures circling their prey, their blades drawn, and their bulging yellow eyes gleaming lustily.

'You will have your temporary glory,' Kael said.

The demon's lord face suddenly contorted into a hideous, fiendish grin. 'And I shall relish every moment of it.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Iris Domingo, thank you so much for your review. Frankly, I had decided to postpone finishing this fiction, but you inspired me to continue. I tried to contact you (by other means than through reviews), but you displayed no e-mail address. But never mind--thank you so much!

To other readers, most of what Hamilton says , according to witnesses, is, well, what he actually said. So, if he sounds odd, blame history.

Please read, enjoy, and review. Thank you!

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Shrieks and howls filled the air as Hamilton and Burr assumed their positions, the bloodthirsty demons jeering like elated spectators at a favorite sport. The faint morning breeze wisped stray auburn strands from Hamilton's squinting violet-blue eyes.

'Duelists ready?' Pendleton asked.

The rapidly rising sun cast its rays playfully upon the glittering river, teasing Hamilton's eyes, throwing quick flashes of light into his blurred vision.

'Stop,' he said suddenly. 'In certain states of the light one requires glasses.'

With his free hand, the former treasury secretary fidgeted in his breast pocket for his spectacles, placed them on his nose, and aimed his weapon in several directions. As his gaze fell upon Burr, Hamilton dropped his pistol slightly, and peered into a cold, icy stare of dark eyes. Burr's expression evinced nothing short of malice. Politically desperate and indignant, it only seemed fitting for the vice president to end this constant obstruction—this West Indian _bastard_ who had proved himself nothing more than a hindrance to his ambitions from the moment he set foot in New York—with the shot of a pistol. Yes, it was a conflict of egos, Burr admitted, but he knew all too well that the dignified and esteemed Hamilton could not possibly refuse an appearance on this glorified stage of honor. Thus, the former treasury secretary submitted to the duel—and to the deathtrap.

And Aaron Burr devotedly heeded every word hissed into his ear.

'This will do,' Hamilton finally spoke, giving his spectacles one final nudge. 'Now you may proceed.'

The loathsome spirits convulsed with frenetic anticipation, clicking their talons and licking their lips. Asmodeus shot a triumphant glance at the General of the Heavenly Host, his muscled, leathery arms folded. 'You might find it necessary to cover your pretty eyes, princes,' the demon lord mocked, 'for the sight may be too brutal for you to bear.' A scream of laughter erupted in response from the crazed demon horde.

Gabriel instantly reached for his sword, his azure eyes ablaze with righteous anger, but Kael stayed his hand. 'He must!' the General reminded the golden-haired archangel. 'But do not despair, Gabriel. He will be relieved shortly.'

'For how long, then?' Rafael asked, his sea-gray eyes never leaving his Caribbean-born charge.

Kael did not respond immediately. 'Until he pronounces his final affirmation.'

Pendleton asked the duelists if they were ready. Both of them affirmed.

All at once, every being—earthly and unearthly—grew deathly still; everything seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Pendleton's either damning or saving word.

'Present!'

----(-)----

—_Father!_—

—_Hush, child, I beg you!_—

—_Father…I reserved my fire as you advised_—

----(-)----

An explosive flash of fiery light burst from the pistol. Van Ness whirled around to see Burr stagger forward, lifting his pistol.

But for Aaron Burr, all time had ceased progress. With his dark eyes scrunched together, the vice president watched the swirling smoke from the gun wisp away, as Hamilton slowly lowered his raised arm, his gaze steady and fearless.

The pause had lasted only a few seconds. A sudden terror gripped Burr, clawing into his mind, as it shrieked one murderous word.

_FIRE!_

There was a crackling, frenzied explosion of sparks, and Hamilton suddenly felt a searing pain rip through his lower abdomen, bursting a rib, and tear through his liver and diaphragm, before finally sending racking shocks through his spine.

'I am a dead man!'


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know, it's a short chapter. But bear with me; the next one should be longer. Enjoy!

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There was a crackling, frenzied explosion of sparks, and Hamilton suddenly felt a searing pain rip through his lower abdomen, bursting a rib, and tear through his liver and diaphragm, before finally sending racking shocks through his spine. 

'I am a dead man!' Hamilton gasped.

As the former treasury secretary breathed those words, crimson blades flashed, and the demons pounced on the wounded man, savagely stabbing his torso and back, blood splashing onto their hideous faces. Hamilton writhed wildly, jerked slightly to the left, and then tumbled headlong to the ground.

Pendleton rushed to his fallen friend, fearing the worst. 'General Hamilton!' he cried, as he stumbled to his knees, taking the bleeding man into his arms.

Wicked, gleeful shrieks sounded in the air, as the murderous spirits thrust their weapons into their victim's lower back, viciously sliding them up his spine. They bit into his neck and cut into his bloody abdomen, while Hamilton struggled desperately to keep from crying out. Gabriel had to be restrained by his fellow angels.

'Dr. Hosack!' Pendleton screamed. 'Dr. Hosack! Come quickly!'

Burr stared transfixed at the appalling sight before him. Whatever dark fear had been there before suddenly left him, and he found himself starting towards the injured Hamilton, his face contorted with distress.

'Colonel Burr, the doctor is approaching!' Van Ness warned, reminding his friend of the legal aspect of the duel.

'I must go and speak to him!'

But Van Ness had grabbed the vice president's shoulder, shielding him with an umbrella, and he began to lead him back towards the boat.

The doctor came charging up the narrow footpath, brushing past Burr, medical bag in hand. He stopped upon seeing his wounded friend's state, nearly dropping his bag. 'General Hamilton!' the doctor breathed, brown eyes wide with horror.

The once fair, cheery countenance had turned ghastly pale; the sparkle in Hamilton's violet-blue eyes had dimmed, and Hosack was almost certain, as he helped Pendleton prop him against a boulder, that he would not last another minute.

'This is a mortal wound, Doctor,' Hamilton managed to say. Then, he slowly shut his eyes, and slipped away into unconsciousness, and became, as Dr. Hosack would later claim, to all appearance, lifeless.


End file.
